His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. The arrested women were herded in a passage of the Panton Street Police-station that opened upon a cell too unclean for occupation, and most of them spent the night standing. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way.
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